Blossom
by Wolkov
Summary: All her life, Hanae Ryodoji has suffered an incurable mental illness - or that's what she believed. Finding herself in a realm called the Soul Society, she becomes inadvertently bound in many impromptus ways to that world than ever thought possible. And more so to the Shinigami that goes by the name Kuchiki Byakuya.
1. Chapter 1

_**AN:**_ _I think to myself, do I really have to do this? And my brain replies, "Yes, or you won't be able to sleep with all the scenarios coursing through your mind nor would you be able to rise bright and early in the mornings due to wanting to muse more about those scenarios." So here I am, yet with another fanfic._

 _To be perfectly honest, I've wanted to write this story for ages and a couple of hundred more. Kuchiki Byakuya had my heart at Senbonzakura. I knew I had to write something, anything, about him. He's so special, my heart aches. But like I stated before, images go through my mind now and then, some extremely strong and compelling I have to write it, and some not so much. But because I make no promises, I don't know where this story will lead—we'll just have to see, I guess. So, knowing of this extreme risk, read at your own peril. Oh, and, all my stories are Rated M for a reason and it's Magnificence. There will be a lot of violence (because I can't do without violence) gore, and, y'know, some baby making._

 _Also, think of this story as a filler kind of episode. Because I don't want to fit my character into scenes and plan and ughhh because I will instead simply leave it. Aside common knowledge about the Bleach universe being installed, I'm not going to go into extreme details. So, yes, filler episode. Yay, I'm so excited. Tell me how you like it._

 _(P.S. My AC readers, I'm working on the chapter, it's quite a long one so don't lose it. It's going to be posted.)_

 _Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach, but I wish I did because Byakuya would've been paired with my heroine a long time ago. They would've had kids running around the Kuchiki Mansion by now, and Rukia would've been an auntie. So, no, I owe nothing. Just the newly written scenes in this story and my own made-up characters._

Blossom

Chapter One

 _I'm not insane_.

I'm not insane, Hanae Ryodoji thought again with more conviction.

"And you have been taking your antipsychotic pills, yes?" her psychiatrist, Dr. Akiyama Reina, questioned, pushing up her thin-framed glasses up her long nose.

Antipsychotic. She hated that word, but it was the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth when it narrowed down to judging her past and the events that lead her right here, to this very room, to showcase that she was, indeed, psychotic.

Because what else could explain that—

She didn't want to think about it—because they did not exist. They _could_ not. But the upcoming shudder proved its ineffectuality.

For as long as she remembered, even as a child, especially after the death of her parents, those... _monsters_ became the daily background of her life. She saw them everywhere, sometimes dragging themselves across the ground, sometimes lingering behind humans alike pets on a leash, and sometimes attacking. In her case? It was always the latter.

Staying with her granny in Tokyo until she graduated High School, the monsters kept at bay, occasionally landing a few claw marks on her skin when she bypassed them and they hissed. Most of the time, she released pained shrieks, and the people around her, when realizing blood coated her hands and arms, immediately dispersed. Throughout her school years, they thought her a witch, her classmates, and stayed as far as their desks could take them.

But when her granny passed away right after Hanae entered university to major in Business and Management, the creatures became fervent in their approach to her. Not only did they claw but now surged at her, sending her rolling across grounds. If she had not fought back every time, she would've been eaten by now. Literally. Bruises decorated her skin, sometimes she could feel the grind of her bones against each other when her body swelled up.

After moving to Karakura Town—her parents hometown—she found it peculiarly surprising that it contained a little population of those creatures, and realized that this was the place for her. She would be safe here.

So, hallucinations or not, psychotic or not, she needed a Shrink if she desired to live another day.

"Hanae?" Dr. Akiyama's voice snapped her out of her musings.

Her head perked up, eyes landing on the brunette sitting across from her on a black leather couch. She was well over forty with dark brown eyes and whitish skin. She formed a quick yet small smile. "Yes, of course. Olanzapine, Haloperidol, Risperidone. I'm taking them."

"And are they helping?"

Her eyes darted to Dr. Akiyama's right and landed on the creature perched on her delicate shoulder, long claws leisurely combing her brown strands with calculation. She licked her lips, for a moment hesitating.

"Yes." _I'm not insane._

 _They are not real. They don't exist. It's just a figment of my imagination_.

But what of the bruises she continually received? The pain? The daily profile of them greeting her on the streets? Who could explain that? Her granny used to say that accidents happen, that it was not her fault, but if she really was insane, why weren't the medications helping? She's been taking them for three years now. Something _should_ occur. Anything.

But the creatures never went away. They lingered. Red, black, white eyes staring at her, bloody mouths opening to eerily smile at her. Bodies of all shapes and sizes, tails and wings and horns included, crackling in the dark night sky as they took flight or formed their music of chaos on the streets. They stayed, and she was utterly and wholly left dejected. Hopeless.

Why weren't they leaving?

Could they, dare she think, be real?

No. No, no. She could not live her remaining days like this, always looking over her shoulder, always locking her windows and doors and retreating inside her closet to sleep with a bat in her hand. Always on alert, wary. Always bleeding from somewhere. She wanted peace. Please. They could not really exist; she refused to accept that reality.

They will disappear, yes, she just had to give it more time. Maybe even take stronger medications.

"That is wonderful. Looking at the details of your daily life, it is safe to assume that your..." Her doctor trailed off, and paying her no heed, Hanae's eyes instead landed back on the small minion on her shoulder—who was now gazing directly at her.

It did not blink nor break any eye contact.

She gulped, sinking into her seat. It tossed her an unknown look, one that seemed plain but in truth ventured deeper than that lone layer. It gave her the look of death.

Then, slowly, oh, so slowly, its lips spread, spread, _spreaaad_ and formed a wide grin, revealing sharp fangs that dripped with venom. And then it shrieked, vibrating her very bones, and venom-laced saliva spewed everywhere.

Hanae stilled, her heart stopping.

It's not real, it's not real, it's not real, it's not real.

Suddenly, from the wall behind Dr. Akiyama, a monstrous shape walked in, skull for a head, red fur for a neck, and a beastly form for a body. It had a tail and wings. It was made from red and black scales. She immediately recognized it.

 _Punisher_.

No, she thought with horror, eyes widening. No, not him. Anybody but him. She straightened in her seat, taking her feet off the ground and rising to her knees. A position that indicated if anything were to malfunction, she'd be ready to flee.

"Hanae?" Dr. Akiyama voiced her name, but her gaping eyes still remained on Punisher. Her heart began to pound hard against her ribs; she heard each heartbeat in her ears. Her body broke out in cold-sweat. Her palms sweat and her muscles shook with sheer fright.

He never showed any mercy. He was the one that attempted to harm her the most. She hadn't seen him for a few weeks, but it didn't matter. He always came back. Ever since her granny died, this creature had been on her tail. No matter where she fled, he found her as if he knew exactly where she resided and only lagged a few days behind just to spike terror in her first.

It was working.

"Hanae, are you alright? You suddenly turned pale, what is the matter?" A gasp. Then, "Is it them? Are you hallucinating again?" Hallucinations? No, she thought, this was too real to be a mere hallucination. "Listen to me. They are not really there. Focus on my voice, Hanae. You can do this. Just breathe. There is nobody in this room. I promise you."

Punisher, its skull head, craned down as if in search of someone, and when his black eyes spotted her, he parted his mouth and let out a roar that shook the entire structure of the building. Windows shattered, walls cracked open, plaster and debris pattered down on the ground.

Hanae shielded herself by curling into a ball. Glass pieces showered down on her and on the wooden table stationed in-between her and Dr. Akiyama. _Clack, clack, clack, clack, clack!_

When she straightened, Punisher was already making his way to her, ready to hurt. To kill.

Gasping for needed breath, her lungs burning, her limbs already trembling, she bolted to her feet and run to the door. Her converse shoes cracked down on already broken glass veiling the floor and the soft, beige carpet.

How could they not see this?! How? She had to leave. Now.

"Hanae? Hanae!"

She paid her psychiatrist no heed as she jerked the door open and rushed out of the room, speeding down the corridor and causing many a people to jump out of her way.

Behind her, Dr. Akiyama followed suit, shouting her name and begging she stop. Following her pleas was Punisher's second roar, rattling the walls yet once more. He burst out of the room and, locking his eyes on her fleeing form, chased after her, each plant of his large feet causing thunderous thuds to erupt. She felt them at the soles of her feet, causing the marbled floor beneath her to thrum.

"Lady, calm down!"

"Woah!"

"What's wrong with her, jeez!"

As people continued to step out of her way, she turned to a corner, already seeing the main exit of the building. Thank God her sessions took place on the ground floor.

The guards tossed her peculiar looks and one even tried to stop her, but she evaded him and did not halt even when she was completely enveloped by the breezy, Spring-tainted night of Karakura Town.

She had to go home. She would be safe there. It was a few blocks away; she wanted her sessions to take place near her just in case faced with such nights. Punisher broke out of the building, completely destroying the glass-doors of the main entrance. The guards still continued to talk with each other, brows furrowed and eyes locked on her as she fled the scene.

Despite the hundred questions arising within her, she knew her first priority was to lose tail. Or seek refuge. Her home would offer both. She just had to get there first and rapidly.

Legs stomping against hard cement, sweat beading on her forehead, Hanae heard each dreadful fall of Punisher's feet on the ground behind her—and he was not far off.

She couldn't contain it any longer. She released the panicked scream that had been threatening to escape her throat ever since she first eyed Punisher. At her scream, he responded with a shrill that caused the lamps on the street to burst, casting dark shadows on pavements, removing all traces of hope. She shot her arms up to shield herself.

Due to her having classes in the morning and afternoon, she had her sessions take place at precisely 20:00 a.m. at night every Monday and Wednesday. It was Monday, and everybody was most probably in their homes, safe and with their loved ones. She saw no humans on the streets.

It didn't matter. They wouldn't offer the slightest aid. Her home. She had to reach her home. And then hide in the closet. Nobody would harm her; nobody would be able to find her.

Frantic, trembling, she took narrow streets and kept close to the large walls of the houses so as to not catch his attention. In that manner, she rushed to her own block and neighbourhood, and after a few turns, spotted her apartment.

Relief pounded through her entire body, and she nearly sagged down to the ground in bliss. Safety. At last. Speeding towards her home, she grabbed her keys out of her jeans pocket, fumbled a little due to her shaking hands, managed to stick it in the keyhole, and hastily jumped inside, slamming the door shut behind her.

She didn't turn on the lights to the stairs but instead took them two at a time. Gasping, sweating, she whizzed up the steps, her plain white T-shirt beginning to stick to her form. Her palms smacked down on the railing for needed support and at last—yes!—she stood face-to-face with her apartment's door.

Quickly opening it, she almost instantly made her way to her room to shut the windows. She'd left them open so fresh air could cleanse her home's atmosphere before she returned from her session. Panting, she entered her room and—

Hanae stopped dead in her tracks.

Her keys slipped from her fingers and fell on the floor.

How— No— But— Her jaw slacked open, and violent tremors slowly started to cover her body.

Punisher stood at the centre of her room, black eyes glued on her person. How did he know? She'd recently moved and he wasn't present at that time, hence the question. _How_? But it mattered not; in the end, he always found her.

"Please..." she croaked out, now helpless. "Leave me alone... I beg you. Please..."

He merely craned his neck to the side, then released a shriek so powerful, it sent her flying against a wall. Her back slammed hard, and for a moment she lost her vision. Everything blackened. Then it gradually returned, and she groaned, seeing stars. When he took a step forth, she attempted to rise to wobbling legs but to no avail.

Instant pain erupted from her side, and she sharply gasped, toppling down. Grabbing her ribs, and noticing them broken, she groaned deeply in distress. Her left wrist seemed to have suffered the same fate, because when she tried to roll it, shots of pain sizzled their way up her forearm, causing her to softly cry out.

Punisher took a step forth, catching her immediate attention. He extended his arm, meaning to grab her. Frantic, she began crawling backwards, her belly sliding against the floor, her legs shuffling to move quicker.

"What!" she shouted in her terror. Hot tears blurred her vision. "What do you want?! What! Get out of my head! Get out! I curse the day you were birthed! Get out!"

He grasped her ankle and tugged at her. She immediately skidded backwards, her chin smacking against wood at the force installed. "N-No," she huffed out, her hands, despite her broken wrist, groping at the wooden floor to fight against Punisher's deathly grip. No use.

He hauled her back and up in the air, then, as though not knowing how to hold her, as if _fearing_ he'd hurt her, dropped her back down. She landed with a loud thud, but before she could recover from the hard contact, he picked her up yet once more—before dropping her again.

This time, she landed on her broken wrist first when she accidently tried to protect her face. She howled at the agony it caused her. Punisher, with his massive index finger, flicked at her stomach, then her spine, provoking her to glide side-to-side on the floor. She groaned in distress.

He grabbed at her again, raising her high by her torso. Then squeezed at her chest, and her lungs deflated, breath shooting out of her lips.

"Let m-me go!" she tried to scream, vainly struggling in his clasp. "Let me GO!"

He growled, the act sending jitters through her small frame. With her unmarred hand, she beat at his fingers, even scratched, tearing scales. Punisher reacted by thrusting her down. Hanae bounced twice before she completely flattened against the ground. Her hair, now in disarray, splayed across her face and neck, briefly fluttering up when she heaved out struggled breaths.

Her entire body ached, and her broken ribs and wrist more so. Her skull hammered, her thighs shook, and her vision saw only stars. She was dizzy, already smashed to a pulp as Punisher played around with her tiny human body.

She felt a heavy weight settle on her shoulder, then weakly noticed her body being turned to the side. Large skull with pitch black eyes saluted her, and for a moment, she thought she noticed signs of helplessness and true genuinity in those dark pools. Cannot be. He hated her as she him. Thoroughly.

"I hate you," she brokenly whispered for emphasis, her voice not even audible. But he heard her nonetheless, and he was not pleased. With the sharp claw of his fore finger, he drove it straight into her belly. She screamed, her head thrusting back. Skin tore. Blood spurted out, and a pool of crimson formed around her. Her body jerked at the immeasurable pain and agony, her legs kicked out, aimlessly skidding against the floor and squeaking.

Even when her voice died out, her attempts to scream didn't. Her mouth still parted wide in silent anguish.

Deeming it's enough, he withdrew his pointy nail, and blood instantly followed, seeping rapidly from the gaping wound and gurgling out of her mouth. She slacked down against the floor, her jaw gently closing. Black spots began to form in her sight, and she whimpered, clutching at her bleeding stomach.

 _I don't want to die,_ she thought now _. But I am. He's going to kill me, going to deliver the final blow._ At that, her chest formed a hot pang that caused tears to trickle down to her hairline.

Then, more strongly, _I don't want to die,_ she tried to shout. _Oh, God, please, I-I don't w-w-w-want to d-d-die!_

Her entire insides shook when her ears perked at the scraping sound of Punisher's nails dragging across the wooden floor next to her head, no doubt leaving a mark. He wrenched his huge hand away, threw his head back and roared, the power in his voice causing the night to tremble. A war cry.

"Y-You can't kill m-me! You d-don't exist. You're my d-demon. M-My creation. All orchestrated i-in my head." She tried to stall him. Perhaps she spoke true; perhaps her own Punisher could not bring upon her demise. He faced her then, black eyes glaring in, causing hers to abruptly widen in return. _He was going to do it_. Without a moment's consideration, Punisher sent his iron-knuckled fist flying straight down at her.

A strange... object chose to come in her line of sight at that moment. She spotted the colours black and electrical blue decorate... flapping wings?

A butterfly, she realized, dazed. _Pretty._

Hanae awaited the brutal slam of Punisher's fist to greet her, waited for the entirety of her bones to break and shatter and turn into mere powder, waited for her muscles to tear and her body to explode by the sheer pressure of it, the pieces of her flesh splattering against the walls and floor, waited for all of this to end, but before any of it could occur, before any of it could mark her death in history, a quick lightening sound cut through the air.

Then the short flash of a long white coat, the ends for the briefest second caressing her face.

 _Swish!_

A pain-filled howl erupted, filling the room, and it didn't emerge from her. _Punisher_. One second she was being attacked, and the next—nothing.

In her befuddled yet petrified state, her searching eyes landed on a wide back possessing the number... six on it? A little high up, and she saw a raven head.

The body standing before her, shielding her from Punisher's death blow, emanated a massive energy that pulsated through her body, and Hanae would've been thrown off balance if she wasn't already lying in her own pool of blood.

What was—

The silhouette, faster than the blink of an eye, disappeared and appeared high above in the air, almost reaching her ceiling, and, with a sword so sharp it gleamed in the moonlight, cut Punisher's skull right in the centre. After a moment, his body started to break down and, alike a paper set on fire, its ashy-ends whirled into the air. Punisher gasped for breath, then released a low, hollow groan.

Who was—

The figure lowered, the descent bringing with it the scent of cherry blossoms and newly sprung Spring flowers. It reminded her of the first bud that bloomed in the wake of nature; the first ray of sunlight that streamed past clouds and hit wet ground after a morning full of rain. The tranquil flow of streams against one's feet in a hot day; the chirping of birds when morning dawned and dewiness befell the quiet roofs of houses. The taste of clear water. The warmth of sunlight on skin. The first fall of snow. The melting of snow. Everything.

As blood soaked her clothes and hair, and as the taste of copper filled her mouth, she struggled for her next breath, and more so to steal a glance at the person towering before her.

 _Please_ , she desired to say. _Help... me_. Her fingers twitched, desperate to reach the figure. Then, with more force and energy, she gurgled out, "H-He...lp." Finally. A sound. That one word ripped out of her throat, and she flinched, already regretting it.

Sheathing back his sword, the unknown man briefly turned, and slate gray eyes grounded her. Hair the colour of midnight framed a unique oval face, four hairpieces keeping those locks pinned to the back of his head, but even then, she examined, one long, stubborn lock fell over his face, gifting him an unrivalled aristocratic appearance. The rest of his facial features only complimented him further; possessing a perfectly sloped nose, dark, frowning brows, and luscious pink lips, he was beauty and power incarnate.

Especially power.

She felt his gravitating strength with each step he stole to close in on her. _Who is he_ , she thought for the hundredth time. Would he hurt her? At that, she whimpered. Was he a good man? Perhaps an angel that has come here to take her soul as she lay here on the brink of life and death?

Even though everything in him screamed lethality, his face spoke of a special kind of heaven.

He knelt down, and the cherry blossom scent increased, washing over her. Yes, she dreamily concluded. An angel, indeed.

"Is she going to die?" A rough yet low feminine voice asked.

Despite her extreme weak state and the loss of most of her senses, the voice pierced through her muddled thoughts. She knew it. Recognized it, even. Who was—

Her granny appeared from behind the broad shoulders of the angel, tears in her hazel eyes. Hanae's drooping eyes widened in shock, but her outer reaction did no justice to her inner one, for her eyelids only twitched and her lashes merely fluttered.

 _Granny?_

"Yes," a deep yet silky voice resonated, dragging her attention back to the angel crouching before her. He was calmly inspecting her wounds. At his nonchalant reply, her already weakened heart decreased in pace, further sending her to deep oblivion. "If I do not help her," he added, and then focused his eyes on her face, completely catching her off-guard despite her already beaten form.

His stare had a compelling dynamism to it, and she didn't know whether to hold his gaze or to keep on looking with the abundantly renewed hope in her eyes. She chose to keep on looking.

"Please, help her. I regretted leaving her alone; my only wish was to protect her. I meant her no harm," her grandmother's voice rang out. "Do not let her die. She cannot die. Please, save her."

Meant her... no harm? Through the drugging heaviness pulling her down, making it impossible for her to coherently think, she still managed to piece the missing puzzles together. Her grandmother was Punisher. But it cannot be. She would never— Her granny would never—

Oh my God.

Oh, _God_.

Almost instantly fresh tears welled up in her eyes, burning them. And then she began to weep, her shoulders gradually beginning to shake at the brutal revelation tossed at her. What was the meaning of all this?

What in the world was happening?

How could her granny— Why would her granny—

"Oh, my sweet child. Forgive me." Her granny approached her, light illuminating out of her small form. She then knelt down, and her soft palm brushed at her forehead, reassuring her. The touch immediately affected her. "Please, forgive me." Her own tears began to trickle down her wrinkled cheeks.

At that—she didn't know where she got the strength from, only knew that the burn in her chest aided it—Hanae sobbed. Hard. Gazing at her granny and her sorrowful face, she formed three hasty nods, because she _knew_ that her grandmother would never intentionally mar her. Even if she did not know what this all meant, she still continued to helplessly nod.

 _Yes. Yes, I forgive you. Of course I forgive you. Always_.

What mattered was that her granny was with her now. She didn't know how but she was; she'd stay with her. They'd be together again. She'd finally have a family again.

Gifting Hanae her sweetest smile, the smile she missed so much, her heart ached, she gradually, to her utter bewilderment, began to fade away.

Wait. No. Wait, no! Where was— Where was... Granny? She whimpered. Don't go. Don't leave me again.

But she did. Her light died out, her last words being, "I love you so very much, my dear girl. So very much."

She fought hard against the weight pulling her down, warred brutally against the restraints of her own deficiency. No use. Finally, with all her might, with all the mental and physical anguish brewing within her, she screamed, and all the knife-like sensations and clogged blood lurched out of her throat with one brutal push. Pain immediately followed suit, but she didn't care. _Where had she gone?_

"Pl-Please don't go! Granny, don't l-leave me!" she hoarsely blubbered out, reaching for the space she recently vacated with her bloodied hand. "I f-forgive you, I forgive y-you with all the remaining beats of m-my heart. Come back t-to me. Please... don't go. Come back." Then, clutching at the angel's coat, she struggled to lift herself. "Do something!" she ground out at him, fruitlessly jerking at his clothes. "A-nything!"

Those slate eyes never wavered in their cold appearance. "Do not speak, human. And do not move unless your desire is to die." Strong arms—warm arms—snaked around her back and behind her knees, and before she could register what was transpiring, the angel hefted her up.

At her new position, her wounds cried out. And so did she. Then, "I don't want to die," she frantically croaked out into his neck as he brought her closer for proper balance. How easily he carried her, as if she didn't even weigh anything. But her blood didn't fail to coat his special uniform and skin. "Please, I don't w-want to die. _Don't_ l-let me die. I want my granny. Bring back my granny, angel. I-I plead y-you."

At her words, long, spiky lashes fluttered down, and he released a soft huff. The angel didn't offer anything else.

He didn't understand. How could he? Years of loneliness, countless nights filled with fear and terror, how could an angel understand her need for company again? For a friend, a family? She didn't want to be alone again. _Please, not again._ Her granny was here, she was absolutely sure about it. Her sweet scent, her reassuring touches, her soft voice. _Oh, please, please, please_. She wasn't ready to part yet. Wasn't ready to die yet.

Witnessing her previous burst of energy wane away in a rapid pace, she sagged down, and her head heavily lolled down on his strong shoulder. Hanae had to make him understand before it was too late; weakly parting her jaw, she attempted to speak. To form words. Nothing emerged.

" _Nii-sama!_ " A distant voice resounded, briefly causing her ears to twitch. She tried her best to glance up. No use. A warm blanket of oblivion draped over her form, ushering with it denseness, and she couldn't make out the next words. She was being sucked into darkness. _"We've eradicated most of the hollows, but tonight there are... Renji and Ichigo are in..."_

As more of the angel's heat and scent enveloped her, she sluggishly blinked once...twice, before her heavy lids dropped shut. With that, she slipped into deep slumber, taking with her the thousand unanswered questions and the thousand pangs of different pain into the abyss, maybe to never awaken again.

-v-

 **AN:** _it's short but it will do. Much love!_


	2. Chapter 2

Blossom

Chapter Two

With an uncalled for jerk, Hanae awoke.

Her eyes popped open, her vision zooming in and out before settling evenly on the ceiling. She exhaled.

Warmth. That was the first thing she registered. Then, with her throat raw and dry, she forcibly swallowed, and slowly allowed her eyes to trail down her body.

A sleeping futon. She was on the floor, the material draped heavily—too heavily—over her form. Its colour was very light green and white.

Confused, boggled, even, she craned her neck to the right, her hair rustling against the pillow resting below her. Intricately designed _shoji_ doors poised slid open, displaying a traditional _kaiyu-shiki-teien_ garden to her. It was wide and large, and she saw stepping stones form a leisure path about the garden, bypassing a few Sakura trees. Its grass was also newly cut—she could smell its freshness all the way in here—and the chirps and sing-song melodies of birds outside flowed in, bestowing upon her tranquillity. The soft breeze that blew inside only relaxed her further.

But... where was she?

Previous events one by one saluted her, and each salute was like a slap in the face. She abruptly bolted upright, her hair splashing forward before settling on her shoulders. Her vision almost instantly blackened, and she lost her sight for a few heartbeats before regaining it. Her head also spun, nearly tempting her to lie back down.

She wouldn't, though. The last thing she recalled was... the angel. His warmth, his singular scent. But he wasn't present now. He'd left her, most probably, and in here, a room spotless and obviously well-taken care of. But not her home. She'd also met her granny, had watched her granny vanish, had cried out for her to return. She, too, was nowhere in sight.

Hanae was alone.

Gulping back the upcoming fright at being in a foreign place with no reassuring soul in sight, she weakly pushed the weighty blanket away, revealing a light blue _yukata nemaki_. Her cheeks slightly burned. Who had undressed her? And where were her clothes?

It mattered not. She needed to go home, and her flighty instincts were already pushing her to her feet, practically begging she get going. Mustering all the strength left in her, Hanae shakily rose, her frailty evident in the way her head spun anew and her knees threatened to give out.

Focusing all her energy on her feet, she straightened, puffing out her chest and deeply exhaling. Gradually, her world settled, and so did the rising nausea. Good. This was good. Placing a hand on her marred stomach—

Wait a moment. Her brows instantly furrowed in the middle. Almost stupefied, she glanced down. Her injuries, they were gone. How was that even— She tugged her collar back, peeking down at her naked body. It was the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. The deep stab wound she'd received was gone! Her broken wrist, too, was healed! _How_?

Who'd done it? The angel?

At that, her heart started an unexpected drum song against her, also, healed ribs. Bewildered at her own reaction, she commanded the rapid flutters cease, but they only increased.

Lifting her wrist to examine it more clearly with widely impressed and fascinated eyes, she oooh'd and aaah'd like a child. But it was marvelous! Truly amazing! She'd never in her life witnessed such a miraculous act.

 _What if it was all played out in your head?_ The question popped out of the blue, cutting through her musings, stilling her. Hanae's excitement dropped in a rapid pace. Her expression fell; her eyes dulled out.

All... in her head?

She possessed no wounds to prove otherwise. But she felt _it_ ; felt everything. None of it could be fake. It was real. It happened. She saw her granny, saw an angel.

 _Really?_ The same cynical voice questioned. _Saw a dead woman?_ _Saw an_ angel? _You only fool yourself, Ryodoji._

At the inaneness of such a reality, her spirits dropped and her desperation to suddenly get away resurfaced. But the mere notion of the angel who rescued her being fake brought upon a startling disappointment that caused her to pout. She wished it wasn't so, but knowing of her hallucinations, he might as well be the hero she created to fight her demons.

Shaking her head and ridding herself from such musings, she, to the best of her capabilities, rolled the futon away and padded out to the finely polished _engawa_. If all took place in her head, then how did she end up here? _Where_ was here? Had she sleep-walked, even when it had never occurred before? The _yukata_ she wore did not belong to her, either. Also, it was the first she was not carrying bruises, hallucination or not. She _always_ carried the bruises. Again, it mattered not; she needed to go home, drown in her medications and pretend none of this happened. Yes, she was the Master of Delusions. Whatever. Better to be delusional than to completely lose your mind.

Tip-toeing out to the spacious garden and realizing it was bigger than she'd concluded it to be with a towering wall enclosing it, she noted that it was empty. No humans. That was good. Since the interior _shoji_ doors would most definitely lead her to others—others she didn't know, others she refused to get to know, others that probably had no idea a stranger dwelled in their house—the path through the garden proved her escape, or rather, _walk_ back home, to be more plausible. Okay, let's do this.

Hanae, braving herself and inhaling deeply, suddenly run like hell.

Weakness immediately made itself known, causing her to stagger before she could get too far. But she didn't stop. It wouldn't take the owner of this place, or whosoever, really, to notice her absence. Or presence. She'd climb over the wall, a feat she didn't yet know how she'd accomplish, but the only way out was over it, hence over it, it is. Whoever gazing out and enjoying the view in the garden would unmistakably get more than what they've bargained for.

Barefoot, her toes and soles sinking into the newly sprinkled grass, wetting them, she crossed several large stone steps and tall Sakura trees, a few green bushes and rocks, and even a bridge towering over a pond.

Her eyes accidently caught a splash inside the crystalline water, then a flopping tail. Her body skidded to a stop, her excitement evident in the way she suddenly leaned forward to watch fish scurrying about in the pond. _Oh, so pretty!_

Wait, no. Focus, Ryodoji. She had to leave. Swallowing down her excitement, Hanae picked up her pace.

Panting, sweat beading on her forehead, fatigue already creeping up her body, she jogged and came to a halt before the main wall. Toppling over, she heaved, trying to catch her breath. Oh, _God_. This _hurt_.

Forcefully straightening and galloping in a fistful of air, she backed up a bit, prepared her legs, and then bolted into action, her soles kicking up the wall and her hands stretching out. _Smack!_ Contact. But her grip suddenly loosened, and she plummeted back onto the grassy ground—straight on her butt.

She _ooof_ 'd, breath shooting out of her lips. "Ow." She rubbed her bum, wincing. Brushing her palms together, she rose to spaghetti legs. _One more time; if it doesn't work, I might as well try the front door._ Mind made up, she took action.

One step, two, she backed up for good measure. Then a few steps more—

Her spine suddenly bumped against an object. Hanae stilled, then, with innocent naivety, tossed a look above her.

Two pairs of unimpressed, slate gray eyes bored down on her. She recognized them.

Her eyes immediately widened, and she gasped, twirling around. The abrupt act caused her to accidently slam against his rock-hard torso, provoking her to stagger backwards and nearly trip over her own feet. Catching herself on time, she faced him, eyes still wide with disbelief.

The angel's—angel's!—indifferent eyes took in her current appearance with one look. Then, "You have failed to amuse me, human. What is it that you are trying to accomplish here?" he said. Just like before, he wore a full black _kosode_ , over it a white _haori_ that had a high collar with golden edges and small, light gold tassels dangling from the corners, and white _tabi_ and _waraji_ for footwear.

At hearing his voice, Hanae's insides were on the verge of exploding—with utter merriment. The angel was here, right before her very eyes. He spoke. He was real! If he was real, that meant... that meant her granny was real. Everything was real! She wasn't... She wasn't... Oh, God, she wasn't insane. She couldn't quite believe her own ears. This meant she didn't imagine or hallucinate any of the past events. Right? Right?

"You are real," she croaked out, eyes still wide with shock. She outstretched her hand as if to touch him, to make sure he was truly present, but didn't in fear of realizing that he was not. She could touch the monsters, so touching him would really prove nothing but she still hesitated. He slightly frowned at her choice of words. "I... I see you. Do I not? Hair the colour of midnight, eyes the colour of the darkest storm, skin the colour of snow. It is you, yes?"

He opened his mouth to speak but gently closed it, his frown deepening. "Yes."

Releasing a gleeful squeal, she, before she could stop herself, rushed to him, and threw her arms around his neck. "You're real! You are REAL! I cannot believe this. This is the best day of my life! The best day!" She barked out a laugh, oblivious to the dumbfounded look on the man's face. "I didn't imagine you; you weren't a figment of my hallucinations. Tell me you aren't! Please, please, tell me you aren't."

Tears of utter and incomparable happiness formed in her eyes, and when she felt the same, singular heat of the angel under her touch, when she inhaled his cherry blossom odour, her chest tightened and her heart performed wild flutters, causing the tears in her eyes to spill.

He was real, he was real, he was real! She let out another bubbly laugh. He was real!

Strong hands— _too_ strong hands—gripped at her forearms, and untangled them from around his neck. She was then none too gently pushed aside. Taking a few steps back, Hanae blinked up at the angel through wet lashes.

His discomfort was clear in the manner his jaw muscle twitched, yet she somehow sensed that he still went for a respectful tone. "You allow yourself too much."

"I'm sorry," she rushed out. "Really. I am. I just," she paused, swallowing down her excitement. Then her weak knees finally made promise to their threat and buckled, and she fell to the ground. Clutching at her chest and trying to even her breathing, she raised her index finger at him, still continuing to speak. "Never have I ever received such glad news in my life. Oh, God, I need to calm down." But rising from the ground now suddenly deemed impossible. Her whole body trembled with fatigue, and sweat began to cover her entire form. She _burned_.

Hanae then realized it was because of him. The angel. His presence was too much for her to bear. It felt as though there were large buildings pressing down on her. It was much stronger than the last time. More crushing. Perhaps due to his immense heavenly purity and her humanly sinful nature?

Finger still hovering in the air, she said, "Just... give me a moment."

He gave her none.

Raising his index and middle finger, he crooked them, a command no doubt meant to be followed. Immediately a being fully draped in a purple uniform appeared, face masked. A guard, most probably.

"Carry her inside," the angel calmly ordered, turning his back to her and walking away. By doing so, he took his singular scent and the only peaceful reassurance to her sanity she had since she'd awoken.

"Wait," she called, vainly attempting to swat away the man's hands but only ending up in his guarding arms. She was hefted upwards. Eyes still locked on the number six etched onto his white coat, she continued, her breathing deep and shaky. "I have questions. Many questions, at that. I want them answered. Now. Please," she added. "Pretty please? Angel, I want to know where I am. Did I die? If I did, perhaps that'd explain the disappearance of my wounds. But if I did not, how am I still alive? Where is this place, heaven? Did I land in heaven? Does this mean I was a good soul? If I am in heaven, when can I meet the Almighty Himself? Does He accept visitors? I'll behave. Promise. Also, if I did not die and I still landed in heaven, how did that happen? Am I in my soul form? Where is my granny? I saw her before I passed out. Perhaps now I can talk to her properly without blood choking me." She galloped in needed air before continuing. "Did I imagine the past events? Did I see what I actually saw? The monsters? I see you even now but are you real? I need reassurance, angel. Could you please stop for a second and answer my questions? Angel? Angel!"

At that, he halted, but did not turn. His voice was cold yet calm, grounding yet silky smooth as he said, "I'm not an angel. I'm a _Shinigami_. You are in the Kuchiki Mansion." She heard pride lace those last two words. "No more squandering my time. Save your energy for later. You will be escorted to your room and will have a meal prepared for you. Afterward, you shall take your leave."

Hanae's eyes widened, then her brows lifted, then her lips parted, and then her features settled into a genuinely confused expression. "You're not an angel but a Shinigami? A... Deathgod? But... How... Why would a Deathgod help me... a human? And Kuchiki Mansion? Wait, am I still in Karakura Town?"

"No." He continued his calm stride back to the manor.

Her frown only deepened. "If I'm not in Karakura Town then where am I? Are we still on Earth?" At that, her excitement abruptly rose, her eyes gleaming with wonderment. "Wait, are we _still_ on Earth?"

"Yes."

At his blunt answer, her shoulders sagged down. Then she locked her arms around the guard's neck, properly balancing herself in his arms. "So if we're not up in Mars or whatever, then where are we? You said Kuchiki Mansion but it is merely a mansion. It surely cannot be the whole place. Where is this Kuchiki Mansion located, angel?"

"Cease your act of referring to me as an angel, and cease your questions."

"Okay, but what's your name?"

Finally he stopped walking. Gently tilting his face to the side so that she could see the strong, bony outline of his smooth cheek, he said "Follow me," to the guard that had not moved. "It seems her hunger for answers far outweighs her hunger for food."

At that, she abruptly straightened. "No, I also want food!" she let out, her stomach almost instantly reacting with a rumble. The guard followed the given order, and the angel—the Shinigami, she corrected—offered no response and continued to lead the way. She blushed up until her ears at her sudden outburst.

She weakly cleared her throat. "If it wouldn't be such trouble," she began in the most polite voice she could muster, "Could I bother you for even a small morsel of food? Wait, I take that back!" A small morsel of food suddenly seemed less. She blushed yet anew at her behaviour. But she had to do this; it was necessary evil. On herself, that is. "I meant," she drawled, "A few... _plates_ of food would be quite nice. Thank you." _Now somebody please bury me six feet underground_.

The Shinigami yet again offered her no reply, and that only caused her blush to spread down until her shoulders. She cleared her throat anew, suddenly lifting her chin up. What? He himself stated she'd receive food, so there was nothing to be ashamed about. But even then her blush did not leave.

To distract herself, she started, "Say, you didn't answer my question. Actually, you didn't answer most of my questions. But let's start with your name. What do you go by?"

They climbed three low steps leading to the _engawa_ and entered the manor, opening a few shoji doors in the process. They turned right then left and travelled straight before finally coming to a stop in front of intricately designed shoji screens. They had beautiful pictures of trees and mountains and rivers etched into them. The Shinigami gently slid one screen open.

Cool air immediately brushed against her face, and when the angel— the _Shinigami_ commanded the guard ease her to her feet, she unknowingly padded in first, almost pushing past the Shinigami's body, completely entranced by the view.

It was a traditional dining room, but lavishly decorated and unlike any she'd been in. The room stretched wide, in the centre a just as long mahogany table, but its height was low and about it were numerous _zabuton_ , sitting cushions, that is, neatly forming orderly lines. It could hold a feast for almost fifty people, she concluded. The flooring of the room was full _tatami_ , and it was smooth under her feet. The walls, on the other hand, were all shoji screens that were slid open, showcasing another garden outside, but unlike the last one, this one was small and secular and much shaded. Right below the _engawa_ was a large pond full of fish, and on its edge it possessed massive rocks that had a fountain of water gushing over them, no doubt springing from underground.

The ceiling was vaulted, thus causing the roof to tip down and shade the whole of the _engawa_ and even part of the pond. Around the mass of water were lush trees and bushes, and indoor bonsai trees stood beside every outlet. The chilling atmosphere caused by the shade cast by the roof and the ever cycling water, and the scent of lush trees and leaves and flowers saturating the space, and the sound of fish splashing and plopping in the pond, bestowed upon Hanae an indeed freshening sensation.

She hugged her middle when a tiny shiver rocked her spine, and turned about, a wide smile on her face. "It's so pretty in here."

She heard the Shinigami say something to the guard but paid them no heed as she continued on her observations. Padding over to the pond even with the pulsating energy of the nameless Shinigami pressurizing her body, she halted at the edge of the _engawa_ and gazed down and— Oh my God, ew.

Was that her face she was seeing?

Immediately touching her hollow cheeks, Hanae grimaced. She appeared so pale and deathly in the still water. So sickly. Her copper-red hair, equally parting from the middle, fell about her shoulders in complete and total disarray. Her once bright topaz eyes appeared as if they've been scraped by sandpaper. Had she looked like _this_ this entire time? Good Lord, here the Shinigami was, looking perfect and on spot with not even a single strand of hair out of place, and here she was looking like Godzilla took a big dump on a dead cat and left it to rot in the alley.

Quickly combing her hair with her fingers and somewhat taming the strands, she then rubbed at her facial muscles to ease them, licked her lips, wiped at her mouth, and fixed her attire. A nip slip was not what was needed right now.

Pleased with her current appearance, she smiled at her own reflection. A fish took that moment to poke its head out, disrupting the still water and causing her reflection to waver. Her smile widened, and she waved her fingers at him. "Hi, little guy." It gazed up at her for a few heartbeats before diving back in. Aw. So cute. Chuckling, she turned around.

The Shinigami had already seated himself at the head of the table, loosely balled fists resting on his lap. She padded over to him and gladly sunk down to her knees. Her body was barely keeping itself upright with his overpowering presence hammering down on her. Punisher—her granny—possessed no such energy. None of the monsters did. But this Shinigami was different, he _felt_ different, hence could this be a cue that she was not hallucinating him even right now? She took it in the affirmative.

"Alright," she started, plopping her elbows on the table and leaning forwards. "Will you now answer my questions?"

Eyes closed, he gave her a slow nod.

Finally. "How am I still alive?"

"We healed you."

She frowned. "How? Who exactly healed me?" When the monsters harmed her, she truly carried the injuries, but she'd always concluded she'd self-harmed when hallucinating. Now, after Punisher nearly killing her, she possessed no marks but was instead healed to miraculous extents. Could this be another cue in the affirmative?

"They are unnecessary questions that deserve no answer."

O-kay. Moving on. "Am I in Heaven?"

"No. You currently dwell in Soul Society, an afterlife, the world where souls and Shinigamis alike coexist."

"Wait, what?" She shook her head, rising on her knees. "An afterlife? I died? Am I dead? But— But you just—"

The Shinigami sighed, opening his eyes. "You did not die, human. I stated before that you were healed. You live, even now."

Hanae blinked at him, dumbfounded. Then, she palmed her head. "Wait, wait. So I'm alive but yet somehow ended up in the... afterlife? How? That's impossible."

"Yet here you are."

She opened her mouth to speak, closed it, then swallowed. Stay calm...stay calm. This is not a hallucination. _An afterlife? Soul Society? Shinigamis?_ Those questions daunted her, playing with the strings of her sanity. No, no, no. This was not a hallucination; she'd not jump to conclusions. He'd answer her questions, she merely had to ask them. This was different, she now told herself. It felt different. A part of her desired this to be real. True. And she suddenly wanted to fight for it, because unlike her past fear of the monsters being very real, she now witnessed another side to the world where the heroes existed. The monsters _could_ disappear. They _could_ be silenced. Balance was restored, and she didn't want to lose it yet.

"Okay..." She licked her lips, then cleared her still dry throat. "So... Okay. I guess, well, um. Okay. An afterlife, you say? Um. Wow, well, as you can see I don't know what I'm saying, but could you please start from the beginning? Please?"

A knock sounded at the door, and when permitted entrance, a servant strode in, a tray of tea in hand. Head bowed, she shuffled closer, respectfully gave her greetings, even to her, and, putting down the tea set on the table, once again politely excused herself and shuffled back. After a moment, the shoji screen slid shut.

The Shinigami, as apathetic as one can be, placed ceramic saucers that had _yunomi_ atop them to both their rights, and, picking up a _Yokode ne kyusu_ , a side-hand tea pot, gently poured tea into her _yunomi_. The heat of it drifted up to her face, and she deeply inhaled its rich aroma, her lungs expanding. Her stomach also rumbled in response.

Placing the pot down, the Shinigami once again rested his hands on his lap, his eyes downcast. Thick, long and spiky lashes formed shadows on his cheeks in return. _Pretty_. But was he not going to drink, too?

Hanae shrugged, picked up her _yunomi_ with both hands, and took a cautious sip from the hot tea. At that, she noticed, the Shinigami's frowning brows gave a barely noticeable twitch. But the urge to question abruptly fled her mind when the fresh, tangy, but almost sweet taste of green leaves bombarded her mouth, and she sighed, shutting her eyes in beatitude.

When she reopened them to take another sip, she now saw that two pairs of slightly narrowed eyes tossed invisible daggers at her. A chill run down the length of her spine, and she mentally scrambled back to the end of the room.

Gulping, she gifted him a small but grateful smile, and sipped her tea. Those slated eyes only narrowed further.

O...kay. "It's," she shakily began, sort of freaked out by the look he was presenting her, "Delicious?" Nope. Fire of hatred ignited in those deep orbs, and she gradually eased her cup down on the table. "Thank... you?" Nothing. "It was really well made?" Again, nothing.

Why was—

Realization dawned, and Hanae had the strongest urge to bang her head against the table. Numerously. How could she forget _basic_ Japanese etiquette? _You pour your companion's drink and your companion pours yours._ As simple as that and yet she... She pressed her lips into a mulish line. _Baka_.

"I'm so deeply sorry for my behaviour," she said, already reaching for the pot of tea. "I was so consumed with hunger that I forgot about you. Woah. I meant to say, I was distracted. My sincere apologies." Nervously biting on her lower lip, she poured the Shinigami's tea. He offered her no response, only returned to closing his lids again.

A man of few words and sharp, death-like, and can-cut-through-glass glances. Got it.

It's just that she was so used to living alone and having her beverages sipped from normal mugs and glasses and not traditional _yunomis_ that she completely dismissed her host. And also after the death of her granny, she never really had a guest or a friend to pour drinks to. Still, her granny taught her better.

Green tea swirled down the small mouth of the pot and into his _yunomi_ , and vapour immediately ghosted up the length of his cup, wafting across the thin, cold air. To ease the painful discomfort she'd caused, Hanae thought it advisable to question the tea. "You know, it has been so long since I drank anything organic. I always buy my tea from markets, Lipton is typically my preference, and they're really not so bad but this," she throatily chuckled, "Oh, this is different. It's amazeballs." She suddenly stilled at her choice of compliment. She might've forgotten basic etiquettes, but by judging this Shinigami's attire and manner of movement and speech, he was definitely of the elite. She abruptly cleared her throat, tossing him a glance. "And by amazeballs I mean it's amazing and has nothing to do with balls. Perhaps you could say it's balls deep in amazingness. But o-of course you wouldn't say that." She nervously laughed. "Or maybe you would, I don't know. I definitely don't know you. You're a Shinigami, but what kind of Shinigami I haven't the slightest clue. Oh, you never answered my question—!"

Firm fingers snapped at her wrist, rigidly holding it in place. Hanae gasped, gazing at the Shinigami's face.

Slate eyes ground her in her half-standing, half-leaning position. "The tea," his smooth yet steely voice remarked.

She frowned. "What?" And then looked down. "Oh..." _Shit_ , she mentally finished. The liquid was on the cusp of spilling over the edges of his _yunomi_. "I'm so sorry," she babbled out, putting away the pot. "I was talking and talking and oh my God you hate me. Well, good news! I know where the door is. Kind of. Okay, fine I don't. You will have to show me. Or!" She started, already reaching for his cup. "I can totally fix this, you just watch."

"Don't touch it."

She immediately retreated. "Yes. Yes, good call."

Hanae was currently a jittering, sweating ball of sharpened nerves. She never did well in socializing, but everything could be mended by an apology. Right? Of course. She settled herself back on her mat. "I'm... sorry."

The Shinigami, in a ridiculously perfect fashion, picked up his full cup and stole a gentle sip. Yes, he was definitely a noble. She also watched as his soft, pink lips made contact with the curved edge, and blushed until her ears. _O-kay, inner pervert is coming out_. To distract herself, she thought of another topic. He'd mentioned Kuchiki Mansion earlier; perhaps his surname was Kuchiki, as well. Only one way to find out.

"Kuchiki—" she started, and his shoulders tensed in response at the familiar name, "—sama. That is your name, yes?"

Although he did not rest his _yunomi_ back on the table, he did hold it aloft. His eyes were downcast. "My surname, yes, but not my name."

"And what is your name?"

Silence. Then, "Byakuya."

 _Byakuya_ , she repeated in her head, in a way loving how it flowed through the length of her tongue. "Byakuya," she said for emphasis. "White Night. Your full name is Kuchiki Byakuya. It's really pretty."

Something close to a low _Hn_ sound emerged from his throat, and she nearly scoffed but held it back. She'd done enough damage. "What do you go by?" he questioned, raising the cup to his lips.

She sighed, lifting up her own _yunomi_. "It isn't as fancy as yours, but it's Hanae. Ryodoji Hanae."

His cup was about to touch his lips but stopped mid-process when he heard her full name. His brows even furrowed a little. There was an almost crackling silence, but she surely must've misread it. "Ryodoji?"

"I know," she commented, laughing a little. "I think the proper term is I don't know. Really. I don't know what its true meaning is. I've Googled it but to no avail."

He was silent for a few heartbeats. Then, picking up his earlier mission, he went about tranquilly drinking his tea.

Not even bothering to question his reaction, she sipped her own. She closed her eyes, sighing deeply. "Seriously, what type of green tea is this?"

He lowered his cup, a somewhat pleased-that-you-asked expression contorting his eyes. "Hachijuhachiya Sencha, harvested precisely 88 days after the starting of Spring. Today is its 97th day."

"Wow," she muttered. He even knows the dates. "I'm impressed, and I've also never tried it before—until now, that is." Grinning, she drank the Sencha tea with full enjoyment. But as she put it down, her stomach performed a twist that completely wiped the grin off her face. She frowned.

Her hands, she noticed, were slowly starting to tremble. And her body temperature increased. She suddenly felt hot. Too hot. Sweat formed on her forehead and neck and then completely covered her entire body. She wiped at her face, and watched in rising fright as her arms and limbs violently shook in response.

"Uh..." she softly voiced. "What is... happening?" The Shinigami appeared unaffected.

Her trembles increased, and so did her sweating. Her head spun, and her whole world toppled out of balance. Nausea creeped its way up her throat, and she gagged. That caught the Shinigami's attention. He looked at her, frowning.

Then, she vomited. It was a good thing she turned around in time, facing the garden outside, or else the contents within her stomach would've splashed on his clothes. Instead, it lurched out of her mouth and onto the tatami flooring, the force of it causing her to topple down on her belly.

Her body convulsed, shook, and prepared itself for the second round—albeit not on time. Before she could properly inhale, she vomited out plain liquid. And then vomited again, but this time nothing emerged. She loudly heaved, her hands clenching and unclenching against the floor.

Strong arms branded themselves around her, and she was turned over, facing the ceiling. The unbelievably pleasant face of the Shinigami came into view, and she released a guttural sound. Her entire muscles went into lockdown, and she loudly gasped for needed breath. "Help... Help... Help..."

Her body violently thrashed in his arms, her teeth chattering together, and sweat poured out of her skin, even causing her clothes to dampen and stick to her form. Her hair clung to her perspired cheeks and strained neck, and nails dug into the skin of her palms as she forcefully fisted them, drawing out dots of blood in the process.

 _Wh-What was happening? What in the world was happening?_

But coherent thinking fled reason, leaving only a mindless body at its wake. No matter her will to fight against the waves and waves of sweat-inducing palpitations, she only lost more of her consciousness.

Releasing a strained cry, in her utter mindless panic and fright, she buried her face in the Shinigami's warm, hard chest in seek for refuge. For the briefest moment, all else faded, leaving only his singular heat and scent, both cocooning her. She was comforted by them, but her body was not.

"Ryodoji Hanae," his voice greeted her ears, but it was far away. So far away, she had to strain her ears to hear it.

"Help," she blubbered out in his chest, further burying her face in his warmth. Her short breaths still followed, her gasps still ensued, but then her entire body numbed out. She went into full panic mode. The Shinigami had to completely envelope her in means that she not break any bones or cause any more harm.

This time, there were no short breaths. No gasps. Air did not even make its way in to her body; nothing did. Instead, everything emerged from within her violently writhing form.

For a few heartbeats—an eternity, surely—she suffered this fate, and then everything gave way to darkness, her last thoughts being: _drugs... she needed her drugs..._

-x-

 **AN:** _I know the Japanese have gods rather than one God, but this is how I write so no hard feelings. Peace_.


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